


Not So Funny Anymore, Is It?

by theredhood



Series: Another Night [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Abuse, Past Joker/Harley - Freeform, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse, also focuses on the other Rogues and their disorders, emotional and physical h/c, literally everyone in the Rogues Gallery hates joker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9780569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhood/pseuds/theredhood
Summary: Harleen knew from the first moment she sat across from the white-skinned criminal that he would cause her more trouble than she asked for. She could tell by the way her heart sped up as she circled around to the chair across the table he was handcuffed to, his eyes following her closely, that he would be no good. Harleen was no idiot, she knew from the moment she saw him that the Joker was bad news. Harleen was intrigued but stayed distant and calculated her every move, too bad Harley was soon to take over.It may be too late for Harleen Quinzel to go back to the way she used to be, but it’s not too late for Harley to rid herself of the awful creep for once and for all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> alright so harley/ivy/selina isnt a thing yet and harley is still kinda with the joker. this was just a quick piece to get me started and motivated!

Gotham City was no pretty place, she was full of smog and long shadows cast by tall buildings that seemed to loom over its townspeople. If you stopped a random person on the street and asked what they associated with Gotham, you’d get an array of answers, but answers that spoke of the constant cloudiness and the weekly thunderstorms that would rage on for days at a time or the crime that never seemed to rest. Those who mention the onslaught of robberies, kidnappings, and murder though would always to no fail mention the Bat too. Gothamites were passionate about their nighttime guardians, but whether they were passionate about calling them protectors or instigators differentiated greatly depending on what street you were standing on.

The street that had the most famous opinion on Batman was Crime Alley. It had seen the birth of the Dark Knight more than 30 years prior when a little boy’s parents collapsed outside of a theater’s ticket booth. It had also witnessed the beginnings of his first little bird to lose his wings. The ever-present blackened smudge on Gotham City’s slow-cleaning ledger was also familiar with Gotham’s other famous team of misfits, the Rogues Gallery, who’s clubhouse door was located not three doors down from Thomas and Martha Wayne’s last moments.

“Eddie!” Harvey snapped, throwing his deck of cards down on the poker table in front of him, “for once in your damn life can you stop guessing my fucking cards before I play them?”

“Sorry, Harv,” a lanky red-headed man laughs from where he’s rapid-fire twisting and turning a Rubiks Cube trying to solve it, “it’s as easy to as read both halves of your face.” Then, without looking, he tosses the now-finished Rubiks Cube to Harvey who catches it seamlessly, “easier than solving that stupid toy, at least.”

“Took you forty-five seconds that time,” Pamela pipes up, “you’re getting slower, Nygma. Losing your touch, are we?”

That earns a quack-like laugh from Oswald who’s sitting to Eddie’s left which is quickly silenced by a nasty look from the red-head and a crunch of ice. Eddie snaps his head back towards Pamela, who’s sitting on the balcony ledge sideways, “you would know a thing or two about losing your touch, Ivy. Where’s your hopeless puppy, huh? Back with the Haly’s Circus reject?”

Pamela’s eyes flare up at that along with the tension in the room. Harvey, Oswald, Victor, Crane and Tetch all lean back from their seats around the table, not wanting to be in the middle of what ever could happen next. “Harley,” Pamela begins, voice low and thick with venom, “is on her way over.” She cocks her head to the side and straightens up, “and if you would like to keep that useless thing you call a voice box,” she continues while coaxing vines up Eddie’s chair and up to his throat. “I suggest you shut it before I rip it out.”

“Jesus, Isley,” Doctor Jonathan Crane mutters, pushing his glasses up, “and I thought I was needlessly scary.”

“You’re perfectly scary, Jon,” she replies, calling her vines back and returning back to her calm disposition. They’re all a little quiet after that, going back to what they were doing before. This was normal for them, to get together when they aren’t at Arkham. They quite rarely ever did anything more heinous than swindling each other’s money during cards, though. The club took place on the top floor of an abandoned apartment building, about six stories up off the ground. Batman, without a doubt, probably knew about it. Joker, though, did absolutely fucking not.

The silence stretches on for slightly longer before Harvey coughs and turns to face Ivy who was still on the balcony, “where _is_  that pasty excuse for a criminal?”

“Arkham. Jonathan and I left a surprise for him earlier when we found out his cell was occupied again.”

Jon smiles at that as he grabs a card from the deck, “he’s always the best to test out my new toxins on. If this one works, he should be hallucinating for the next fourteen hours.”

“I even left a nice note for his doctors on the outside of his not door not to open it unless they wanted to join him in howling on the floor in pain,” Pam finishes.

“Please tell me you’re getting it on video,” Selina says, waltzing in and plopping onto an open seat next to Jervis, handing him a cup of tea. “He deserves a little humiliation after what he did to Harley last time he saw her.”

“You never did tell us,” Oswald asks in-between the crunching of ice, “what _did_  he do? This time at least."

Selina looks to Pam quickly (who’s jaw is set tight and is glaring off into Gotham’s horizon where Arkham Island should lay) before turning back to the table and cracking her beer open with her ring, "you’ll see in about ten seconds when she comes upstairs.” The room is silent again, all thinking the worst of what could have happened to Harley.

In a way, Harley was very special to everyone in that room. She had all helped them in some way, either by lending them a hand or just being there for them, by being a friend. Not everyone cared for her as much as Selina and Ivy did, but they did care. Joker, though, had never been their favorites. The Rogues were people, they had feelings and attachments just like everyone else. They had people they cared for along with beliefs and morals. Joker had none of that. Joker had crossed a line none of them would ever think about even going near time and time again. They were all utterly repulsed and horrified by the sick fuck even before he laid a hand on Harley, before he ever came near Batman’s son.

The tension that had accumulated in the short span of time was slashed by the slamming of the apartment door and the sound of thudding paws rushing into the room. “Hiya, guys!” Harley calls out, enthusiastically, two large hyenas circling around her. She’s wearing an over-sized unicorn onesie and holding a raw steak in one hand and a whip in the other, “ya miss me when I was gone?” Her smile is wide as she tosses the steak towards the hall watching Bud and Lou go after it. She blows kisses at them as she bounces over to Ivy and kisses her on the cheek, which gets her to loosen up quickly. When she’s satisfied with her hello to Ivy, she goes and sits down on Selina’s lap and takes a swig of her beer, “we playin’ poker again?

"We were actually playing Go Fish, Harley,” Jervis says, handing a bunch of cards to her from across the table. When she leans over to grab it from him, her sleeve rides up revealing five long and slender bruises around her wrist. She doesn’t seem to notice their presence but those around the table do, they learned to spot the Joker’s doing early on. “You can go first,” he offers, which gets a smile out of her. She’s always smiling, always happy and bubbly on the outside. Only a handful of people have seen her cry, even fewer have seen her furious. Only Harley really knows how close that bottle she’s locking her emotions up in is to exploding. They don’t mention the finger-like bruises around her wrists or the ones around her neck, just like they don’t mention the hickeys or the blood underneath her nails. They especially don’t mention the way Harley keeps glancing around the room, or how she shakes slightly when she closes her eyes, how her voice is raspy like she’s been screaming. The glazed over eyes and dark circles under them are just as commonplace as the other symptoms. None of this is out of the ordinary, so they don’t mention it, they just let Selina rub her palm up and down Harley’s back soothingly, like something that simple would be enough to fix the situation Harley is trying to ignore so hard.


End file.
